


Soft Shadows

by Okumen



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Art, Boys in Skirts, Kinktober 2019, Libra is an Artist, M/M, Seductive Henry, Sketching, Skirts, Stockings, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: Henry is a picture, one which Libra wishes to paint.





	Soft Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5, prompts, tentacles and stockings.

“Do you like it?” Henry asks, and twirls, to show the way that the skirt flares around him like a flower in full bloom. It drapes around his legs when he slows to a stop, and ripples like quiet waves when he has to turn after spinning too far and takes a tottering step to the side after making himself dizzy from too many turns. It’s nearly the only thing he’s wearing, Libra notes; the black stockings that run half way up his thighs makes it even more apparent that they are the only thing that Henry wears underneath the silky black skirt.

Libras face flushes, and he presses his palm over his mouth because he honestly has no idea what sort of expression he is making but he’s assuming it’s ridiculous. A theory which is confirmed when Henry giggles and throws his arms around Libra. He’s pulled close for a kiss, and Henry slides into Libras lap. With the movement of legs spreading and sliding forward, Henrys skirt rides up to expose just a sliver of skin. Libra glimpses it when he needs to draw breath. Libras hands have already found rest on Henrys thighs, and now he slides the one slightly up. His thumb brushes against Henrys soft skin. Henry coos in a way similar to when one of his crows get scratched at the seam between beak and feather.

There is a soft flutter of pages, and when Libra glances to the side he sees that Henry has flipped open his tome. There is a murmur of something ancient and dark and a glow comes from the pages spread open.

A purple tendril slithers from the open tome, and wraps around Libras wrist. His hand is guided up Henrys thigh, and it disappears underneath the skirt fabric. Henry sighs, a pleased, smiling sound. “You could have simply said,” Libra says, then, when more tendrils seeking more solid form gathers around his hair and pulls it aside, to expose his neck. “Or perhaps use your hands.” The spell is working itself once it has started, perhaps through a mental link to Henry, because the mage has removed his hand from the pages and returned it to Libras flesh. “But I want to touch you,” Henry protests. His hands press lightly against either side of Libras face, tangle in some of the hair still hanging loosely by his ears. “They’ll be nice, I promise. Will do anything you want,” Henry assured. Hands pressed to Libras chest and Libra could feel the pressure against his chest plate.

Libra turned his gaze to observe the tendrils, misty at the edges but solid in its core, tips curling like so many cat tails. He raised one hand and thin tendrils wrapped friendly around it, slithered between his fingers like the cool touch of slim snakes. He felt Henry watch him, as he also felt Henrys lips upon his jaw and chin. Libra regarded the tendrils, and he was ever aware of Henrys touches. He wondered, if, perhaps... “Henry,” he called. Henry hummed against Libras skin, and an expression of a startled cat made way onto his face, smiling but confusedly wide, as he was directed off of Libras lap and down onto the carpet that was spread over the floor in Libras sparse bedroom at the castle.

Hair slipped over Libras shoulder as he leaned forward, and Libra brushed hair out of his face, behind an ear. He let the movement continue, to caress Henrys cheek with curled fingers, and then he cupped Henrys cheek. Henry leaned into the palm, his smiling eyes showing question in them. “You dressed up for me,” Libra slowly explained, his voice almost a shy whisper. “You look so lovely, in black, like that — you always do but, it feels special, as you did it for me — and so, I would like to see you properly. And I would like to draw you, also.”

The flush that rose to Henrys face was wondrous; Libra didn’t know if he would ever be able to replicate a colour like that. Henrys gaze wobbled, as if it was close to flitting around in search of something to look at, as if Henry was dizzy.

A deep breath. Henry swallowed. And with a voice softer than it usually would be, shyer; “How do you want me?” Libra kissed him, lips softly to lips. “Settle back,” Libra urged.

Through the corner of his eye Libra saw Henry shift into a more comfortable position on the floor; leisurely leaning back against his arms, the skirt resting like a ripple of water around him.

When Libra straightened up where he sat it was with a sketchbook and a small box of graphite sticks in hand. He placed the box on the bed beside him, opened up a blank page, and after some moments consideration chose the graphite stick that he wanted to use.

Libra sketched in silence, his gaze shifting from page to model. Sometimes, his gaze lingered long moments at a soft curve, an elegant line, a kinked seam, a spatter of freckles only known to him through intimacy.

Through pages and positions, Libras fingers drifted to touch the tendrils still curled around one of his wrists; He barely had touched the thought, but once it stayed on it, he noticed that the tendrils tensed, relaxed, and reached out.

One grasped Henrys ankle, and slithered up his leg. The pace was slow, as if giving Libra the time that he wanted to sketch its path on paper; Henry, meanwhile, watched the tendrils movements, and Libra could see him softly shiver.

Another tendril made way along Henrys arm. When it flicked his cheek Henry let out a startled noise, and when it caressed him he purred. The tendrils spread, crawled over Henrys skin in cool, oozing shadows. They trickled in underneath his stockings. They disappeared underneath the folds of the skirt. Henry gasped, his skin took on a deeper shade, flushed and shimmered. A tendril crawled back out, and drew itself upward; it cinched folds around Henrys waist, and with the way it shifted and pulled on the skirt fabric, Henrys cock, hard and dripping, became visible.

Libras hand stilled momentarily, when a tendril wrapped around the base of Henrys cock and Henrys whole body jolted. The tendrils flicked at the tip of his cock, caressed it, edged in under his foreskin, fondled his balls, spread his asshole, prodded the hole at the headtip. Libras hand worked quickly, with another graphite stick to capture the shivers and twitches, the gasping breath, glazed eyes, curling fingers. Achingly hard from the looks of it, Henry was a glorious mess.

And his eyes were locked on Libra, his tongue slipping out to lick heated lips; he kept gasping out Libras name.

Not only Henry was hard with arousal and want, but Libras cock had swelled as well. Holding off on touching himself, touching Henry, had only made the anticipation pool warmer, more eager, inside his belly and balls. Keeping his fingers steady became more and more a struggle, and for a while Libra had to simply watch and commit what he saw to memory in a whole different way from how he committed something to memory while he drew so that he could draw it later; if he drew something, he would remember it forever, and Henry was, as his favourite subject, someone he never wanted to forget.

The tendrils pulled open and closed Henrys hole, teasing the muscled into twitching after something to grasp.

Libra settled onto his knees in front of Henry once the tendrils had opened up space for him. Henry puckered his lips; they parted in time for Libra placing a soft kiss onto them with a gasp, because Libra brushed his finger pads against Henrys asshole. Libra slipped a finger inside of him, and Henrys body greedily clutched to it, to the next finger, to all that he slipped inside of him. Henry cooed, murmured compliments that Libra wouldn’t manage to repeat with such a lack of shame. “Want you, want you, need you,” was peppered in among it all, and Libra had to restrain himself. He wouldn’t pounce so quickly, he told himself.

But he couldn’t hold himself back forever.

He shifted, settled in an easy position, and with tendrils helping him guide his cock Libra could put both hands on Henrys body; the instant he did Henrys back curved in an orgasm forcibly dry with tendrils stopping him from squirting all over himself. Henry shivered even worse when Libra pressed a lingering kiss to his collarbone, a mixed cry and moan when Libras cock sank home.

Libra kept kissing Henry, and with his hands on his hips and tendrils working in sync he guided Henry up off his cock, back down on it, all the way in a slow, comfortable pace. Henrys voice was in his ear, his fingers in his hair and on his shoulders, unsteady and wanting.

Tendrils made way into Henry, up around Libras cock. Libra clenched one of Henrys hips, and told him, “No, I want to be the only thing inside of you, nothing else,” and the tendrils retracted; Henry let out a happy groan, and sought out Libras lips. “I love you too~” he chimed; Libra felt his face heat up and he smiled and felt the heat grow unbearable with the warmth that Henrys words added to it.

The warmth spread down, and Libra shuddered, gasped into Henrys skin, against his lips and when the tendrils released the grasp on Henrys cock and balls he felt Henrys shuddering breath mix with his own, felt him tense and twitch underneath his palms. Heard how his voice stuttered.

Yes, he thought, he loved Henry. He was comfortable in his arms, skin to skin, even with cum plastering fabric to his skin and dripping of sweat from top to toe.


End file.
